


Mementos

by iammisscullen



Series: I Can't Stop [1]
Category: One Direction
Genre: M/M, Very angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry's 21st birthday. And he receives presents from someone he longs to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mementos

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for this. Mistakes are all mine. Haven't beta-ed. Also, I hate myself for this.  
> There will be John Green and Taylor Swift like quotes here.  
> I have also messed up the whole age thing because how the fuck is Harry allowed to work at a record company at 21? Well, maybe he's super talented yeah?  
> The setting is in London, just too lazy to point out places but Granary Building is here so, I guess that sets it. Hahaha!  
> Grace ([thisonegoes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/pseuds/thisonegoes))somehow sow this seed of AU into my mind because of her [FIC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2729804), just so you know.  
> Enjoy!

****

You were none,

and now you’re all;

your worth will rise,

the more I fall.

 

- **Lang Leav** , _Lullabies_

 

_**_

**February 1, 2015**

Harry’s alarm turns off at exactly 6 am. Just like any other days. He blinks a couple of times to let reality sink in and preps his mind for the schedule he has for today.

He goes to the kitchen and makes breakfast and a cup of tea. He doesn’t hum like he usually does but he’s fine with the silence that envelops him. Technically, it isn’t even quiet with how he’s preparing breakfast but there’s this stillness that accompanies him as he does his duty.

The tranquillity is ruined by the ring of the doorbell and he wonders who it could be to be ringing him so early in the morning.

Harry drags himself to the door and peeps into the tiny hole. It’s a _FedEx_ guy and he’s got a package for Harry.

‘Hey,’ he greets the bloke, who’s name is Marcus.

‘Good morning, Sir.’ And Marcus couldn’t help himself but look at Harry’s naked torso as the lad had only managed to put on some grey sweatpants on his way outside of his bedroom. Marcus blushes deeply so Harry restrains himself from clearing his throat.

Harry can’t blame the man. Marcus must have been Harry’s age so it’s not really surprising that Marcus finds him attractive. People _always_ find Harry attractive. Girls or boys. No one can resist how fit Harry is. It’s like Harry’s Cameron Diaz from _There’s Just Something About Mary_.

‘Package for you,’ Marcus says, handing Harry a shoe size box without meeting Harry’s eyes. His blush is still intact in his cheeks. ‘I also need you to sign here.’ He fumbles with the receipt.

If this happened in the old days, Harry would have found it amusing but he feels nothing now. He signs and wishes Marcus a good day as he closes the door.

He looks at the package and questions, who could be sending him a present? It’s his birthday after all but he can’t remember anyone sending him a gift, usually they deliver them personally to him since he loves company. Or he has knacks for those kinds of things.

Then he sees the gift card. _To Harry_ , is what it says, written in a script he knows so well.

He’s hands trembles. He wants to cry. But he doesn’t.

He takes a sit, not trusting his legs to hold him up. He puts the package on the table and stares at it.

He can’t believe it. He touches the box just to make sure he isn’t dreaming, it felt cold against his hand – must have absorbed the freezing weather outside. His hand careens over the smooth surface of the box till it gets to the small card atop the package.

 _To Harry_. He reads it silently but in his heart can hear _him_ saying to him personally, like he’s there; like he’s not far away.

He wishes he wasn’t. And that’s when the tears start to fall from his eyes.

He misses him.

**December 13, 2013**

The snow is falling beautifully. Well, for now that is because Harry knows better than to romanticise London snow. He knows it’s going to start falling heavier later and it will stick thicker on everything it will land on.

‘What do you want for Christmas, Haz?’ Zayn asks him, raven coloured hair tousled from not leaving the bed the whole day. It’s already 3 in the afternoon and he and Harry both haven’t moved from the warmth of their bed. Not that Harry minds because Zayn is the best when he’s lax.

Harry is watching the snow outside their window. This is just the second time it had snow for this start of winter. He turns to Zayn and can feel the man’s arms on his waist, pulling him close to share body heat – or that’s Zayn’s excuse to cuddle Harry without being so sap about it.

‘I don’t know yet,’ he answers, kissing Zayn’s temple. He hears Zayn groans with mock disgust and Harry chuckles. He’s allowed to be sap because he takes great pride in it. He’s not like sap-denial-Zayn.

‘I want a new easel,’ Zayn announces, his warm breath ghosting over Harry’s bare chest where he puts his head.

‘Okay,’ Harry replies. Now he knows what to add to his Christmas present for Zayn.

‘If you ever make up your mind tell me yeah?’ Zayn mumbles, yawning in the process and Harry doesn’t understand why after all their sleep Zayn still manages to be sleepy. ‘I mean, I don’t want to give you a shit present like pink glittery nail polish.’ He chuckles at his own joke.

‘Really?’ Harry is smiling as well and tickles Zayn.

They have a short tickle fight till they can’t catch their breaths and it gets colder being separated from each others heat. So they go back into their domestic snuggle with their arms and legs tangled under the duvet.

‘I may need new boots,’ Harry says against Zayn’s bare chest – their position exchanging from awhile ago. He’s tracing his forefinger on Zayn’s exposed olive skin, drawing abstract shapes and whatnot. He tries to copy the tattooed lips and wings on Zayn’s chest with his long fingers. ‘The sole of my brown ones have holes on them.’

‘Sure thing, babe.’ Harry closes his eyes when he feels Zayn kissing the top of his head. And that could have been better than any Chelsea boots.

**February 1, 2015**

Harry has decided to wear the brown Chelsea boots for work over the black one that he had bought himself last Christmas.

He’s newly out of the shower when he hears another knock. He tightens the towel on his waist just to make sure he won’t be exposed. He doesn’t mind being naked, he does feels bad for whoever isn’t used to him though.

He opens the door to a young woman in a suit. She blushes when she notices his lack of clothing.

‘So uhm… I…’ She’s fumbling something in her satchel bag and Harry just watches her as cold water drips from his wet hair to his shoulder. His hair is longer than usual and he thinks he might need a haircut. ‘Here.’ She finally finds what she’s looking for and offers it to him.

He stares at the hard paper on her hand and then back at her.

‘This… I…’ She pulls the paper back a little bit. She looks at the material instead of the half naked bloke before her. ‘These are a round trip ticket to Tokyo.’

**April 5, 2013**

‘Let’s get out of town for the weekend,’ Harry suggests as they eat the sushi Harry has made for dinner.

Zayn is trying to put small amount of wasabi on his Californian Maki and does not look up when he asks, ‘Where to exactly?’

Harry was in Scotland last week after recording some album with a small Scottish band called _McFassy._ It’s the second project _Syco Records_ have given him since he started his job as a songwriter for the company. Next month after the deal with _McFassy_ is over he’ll fly over to Ireland to meet with _The Rebels_ to make another record. He’s hoping to go somewhere far. Somewhere he can enjoy without thinking of work.

He also knows that Zayn needs some time off from _Harper Collins_. He knows Zayn loves his job as editor but they both haven’t gotten a week off since like forever. And this weekend could be a good time to go somewhere and come back after 5 days or so.

Zayn looks at him while chewing on his maki, waiting for his answer. And Harry rummages his brain for a nice place to getaway. France is out of the list because it’s too typical.

Harry looks down on his sushi and shouts, ‘Eureka!’

**February 1, 2015**

Harry the-ever-forgetting Styles is at his office now and he’s only realising that he has not brought his earphones. He’s just walking away from the parking lot with his old satchel hanging loosely from his shoulder when he noticed that something is missing. And that something is his earphones.

He feels so disappointed with himself. He remembers the silly post about leaving your headphones at home, it’s like leaving your first born at the gates of hell. He’ll survive today without them, maybe he could borrow Alex’s earphones if he really needs to. Besides there’s like a lot of headphones he can borrow.

But it isn’t his, is the thing. If Zayn’s here, he’d probably have snuck it in Harry’s bag.

He stops his thought before it can go deeper, before he falls down the rabbit hole.

As always, Harry immediately goes to his desk before he goes to the studio. Maybe other people loves writing songs inside studio rooms but Harry finds it claustrophobic in a way. So he often writes on his desk or that abandoned room on the third floor.

There’s something on his desk. Harry cleans his desk every day, makes sure that everything is in their places – pen in cases, paper in folders, trash in bins. Maybe Lucy had left his mail or the _Shapes_ magazine that he subscribes to.

Before Harry can even see it better he knows exactly what it is, a vinyl record. Not just an ordinary one but Pink Floyd’s _Dark Side of the Moon._ He’s been wanting to have a vinyl of it – despite him not having a player for it before– for the longest time ever. And it’s so hard to come across a record like that.

And as if it’s some miracle of the universe there’s a new Beat headphones beside the album. Some might say that it’s a cool coincidence but Harry knows better.

**August 18, 2014**

‘I think we need to buy a vinyl player,’ Harry suggests, picking out a record after another in the vinyl section. He hears Zayn snorts. ‘What?’

‘We will if you ever remember to bring your earphones to work for once,’ Zayn says, holding up a Michael Jackson _Thriller_. He puts it back to the rack because it’ll be useless to purchase one without a player.

Harry gasps dramatically. ‘I do remember my earphones. Thank you very much.’ He snatches the Nirvana record that Zayn is holding.

‘Please.’ Zayn rolls his eyes, plucking out another record , this one by Metallica. ‘You _always_ steal my earphones when you forget yours in the office. And then you’d also leave mine there.’

‘That’s _non sequitor_ to this argument.’ Harry pouts. ‘We were talking of vinyl albums and players.’ He runs a finger on the Nirvana album. ‘I’ll buy one someday and then I’ll buy a _Dark Side of the Moon_ record.’ He smiles to himself, savouring the imagine in his mind.

‘If you can find one,’ Zayn points out, the ever pessimistic one.

Harry glares at him, Zayn only smiles like he’s also hoping and praying that Harry will be able to find one.

**February 1, 2015**

And now he has the record in his hand. He has the player at home. But it feels wrong. Should it feel anything but this? Shouldn’t it?

He thought before that if he’ll have these things he’ll feel like he’s flying, like he’s on a high he can’t come down.

Then why are there tears in his eyes that longs to escape? Isn’t this what he wanted for so long? What’s wrong with him?

He knows the answer. He’s not strong enough to answer, to say it out loud. He can’t. He won’t.

**September 04, 2013**

‘Harry!’ Zayn screams from the door. Harry hears the threshold opens and then closes with a loud bang.

Harry’s stretching on his yoga mat, torso bended and palm flat on the ground, ass up in the air. Harry doesn’t need to look up from his position to know that Zayn is angry. Or maybe just a bit pissed – Zayn could never be mad at Harry. Maybe not for simple thing like their flat smelling like ginger.

‘What the fuck?’ Zayn heads to where Harry is, in the middle of their living room with his ass out in the air and wearing the tightest and smallest short Zayn had ever laid eyes on.

‘Zayn, you’re ruining my vibes,’ Harry says calmly like Zayn isn’t at the verge of lighting something on fire with how pissed he is.

‘Harry.’ Zayn’s voice is on the edge of anger. ‘Our flat smells like ginger!’

Harry rises up from his position and blows air in Zayn’s face, the man currently in front of him. ‘Chill, Zed.’ He places his hands on Zayn’s shoulders and does another exhale.

Zayn shoves Harry’s hand by shrugging his shoulders forcefully. ‘I can’t chill because our fucking flat smells like fucking ginger!’

‘And?’ Harry raises an eyebrow at Zayn and folds his hands in his chest like he’s praying and lifts his left leg up, anchoring the foot to his right leg.

Zayn – the ever so tolerating Zayn of Harry Styles – lets go of a sigh. A sigh of defeat because there is no sense reasoning Harry sometimes. And this is one of those times. He just runs his hands over his face. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like the smell of it?’

Harry frowns but Zayn doesn’t see it because the raven haired man is already walking back towards the door. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Leaving you,’ Zayn answers seriously.

Harry straightens up. ‘That’s not funny.’

Zayn looks over his shoulder, a smug look on his face when he saw that he had pulled Harry out of his tranquil axis of hippie shit. ‘I’m going to find you a better candle and yoga mat.’

Harry smiles, so wide Zayn always worry that it’ll break his face one day. ‘Yeah?’ He’s still beaming.

Zayn turns, one hand on the door knob. ‘Maybe sandalwood,’ he says. ‘And a purple yoga mat.’

Harry’s brows furrow at the colour.

Zayn chuckles. ‘I’ll make it rainbow then.’

‘Will you?’

**February 1, 2015**

And surely, Zayn kept his promise. There’s a candle – sandalwood scented – and new yoga mat – rainbow coloured – on his desk after he gets back from the Room 3 where Alice and Stefan are recording their debut album.

The yoga mat is rolled up and still in its plastic, with a red ribbon tied around it. At the end of the ribbon a small paper is clipped with a _six_ written on it. While plastered on the candles body is _five_.

Harry doesn’t know again whether to smile or cry.

He just reminded himself that he’ll see _him_ later. Maybe.

He should. Is he allowed?

**

Harry, a creature of habit that he is, goes to the Starbucks that is closest to their office. He sees his favourite barista, Giselle, that’s also his friend now.

‘Harry.’ She beams him a smile but there’s something in her eyes – pity? Sadness? – and Harry doesn’t want to name it. Scared too.

‘Hey,’ he greets back as enthusiastic as he could.

The _something_ in Giselle’s eyes flashes again. And Harry realises that _it_ never left. ‘Happy birthday, my frog son,’ she teases and reaches out to tousle his curls. She’s only 3 years older than him but she’s _adopted_ him since they met 2 years ago.

‘Not so loud,’ he scolds but he’s smiling. ‘So do I get a free drink cos it’s my birthday?’ He shows off his dimples and try to be as charming like he used to.

‘Cheeky little bastard.’ She smiles.

Harry faux gasps. ‘I’m your son.’

‘And I don’t know who your father is. Thus, making you a bastard,’ she points out. ‘Your father left me,’ she adds and regrets it because the smile falters from Harry’s face for a second but he glues it back again, like how he’s trying to paste everything these days. ‘Since you’re begging I’ll give you a free cup,’ she says quickly, looking apologetic.

‘Great.’ Harry tries to flash the most believable smile he can manage.

Giselle leaves the counter and starts on making Harry’s coffee. There weren’t so many customers so she’s working alone behind the till for now. Her two assistants are organising a shelf and one is refilling the dessert section.

‘Here you go. The usual right?’ She hands over Harry a cup while he gets it and takes his wallet from his coat pocket. She shakes her head slowly and says, ‘It’s on the house remember?’

Harry gives out a little smile. ‘Thanks.’

She nods. ‘Happy birthday, Harry.’

He nods back and starts to turn for the door but she stops him, holding his arm. Harry looks at Giselle confusedly.

‘Wait.’ Giselle tightens her grip. ‘I told him not to do this.’

Harry’s eyes widen. He knows exactly who the _him_ is.

‘I did.’ She looks even more apologetic now. From under the counter she pulls out a brown paper bag with her free hand. She lets go of Harry to take something from inside the bag. It’s a blue scarf. ‘Here.’ She offers it to him. ‘It’s cold out there.’

Harry didn’t miss the small paper at the end of it with the written _seven_.

**February 09, 2014**

Harry sneezes and he swears his brain got included in the snot that he had blown into the tissue. It’s cold. Very cold. He feels like dying.

Zayn groans with frustration. ‘That’s why I told you to bring a scarf,’ he scolds and starts removing his own knitted scarf from his neck. It was made by his mother last Christmas.

Harry puts a hand on Zayn’s arm to stop him. ‘You’ll get cold,’ he says. ‘Plus, I’m fine.’ He sneezes again, ruining his attempt to be convincing.

‘Right,’ Zayn agrees sarcastically. He wraps his scarf around Harry’s bare neck. ‘You’re so forgetful to even survive this long on Earth.’

Harry doesn’t feel insulted, not when Zayn says it in the fondest manner. Zayn likes to take care of people and Harry loves to be taken care of. ‘That’s why the universe gave me you.’ He wiggles his eyebrows at Zayn, knowing that the other man is disgusted (not really) with sappiness.

‘And where is the justice in my fate?’

‘You get a proper blow job every night,’ Harry says causally like he could be talking about the weather.

Zayn just laughs. And that’s the most rewarding thing to have ever touched Harry’s existence. Or so he thinks.

Harry doesn’t doubt it though because Zayn’s laugh is the best, the only thing he wants to hear, will ever need.

**February 1, 2015**

Of course there’s another package in his desk at his office when he gets back from Starbucks. It has an _eight_ written to it so he knows exactly where it’s from.

It’s a black moleskin and a pen ( _nine_ ).

_Write more songs. :) xx_

A short message, written by the hand that healed Harry’s greatest mars, calmed Harry’s fear, left prints on Harry’s skins as reminders.

‘You alright, mate?’ Jimmy asks, a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry turns to Jimmy. And he tries not to cry. He nods and mutters a small _Yeah_. He can do this.

He survived the cold Christmas days. He can overcome this. He’s over it, right?

‘The whole crew is waiting for you at the canteen,’ Jimmy informs.

For Harry’s birthday his co-workers decided to have a small party. And maybe that’ll take his mind off things.

**February 23, 2015**

‘Harry!’ Zayn gasps and Harry just smiles dubiously.

‘What?’ he asks innocently but he’s so guilty and is smug about it. So he does is again.

‘Jesus!’ Zayn pulls away from Harry, totally impossible since Harry’s long limbs are wrapped around Zayn, caging him. ‘Keep your cold toes to yourself.’

Harry kisses Zayn’s bare shoulder – because yes, despite the cold, Zayn has to sleep only on his boxers and you have to put a gun on Harry’s head first before he starts complaining about it. ‘I’m getting cold feet.’

‘We’re not getting married tomorrow, just so you know,’ Zayn points out. He tries to wiggle from Harry but fails. He sighs and gives up. ‘Harry.’

‘Why are we even talking about marriage?’ He pulls Zayn closer, tangles his legs with Zayn and landing his feet on the man’s shins. It forces a shudder out of Zayn. ‘I didn’t say that I’d marry you.’

‘Good,’ Zayn yawns, ‘cos I won’t be able to stand marrying you.’

‘Anyone will be happy to marry me.’ He kisses Zayn’s shoulder blade this time.

‘Sure they will, babe.’ Harry can feel the smile on Zayn’s words before he drifts off to sleep.

**February 1, 2015**

Harry receives more presents from his co-worker. And he thanks them all. Thanks them for their time, their effort, for the party.

But behind their smiles, he can see something more. And like always, he doesn’t acknowledge it, waits for it to disappear. It’s a long shot though because when Jimmy delivers the next package with a written _ten_ , he looks angry and sad at the same time.

‘This is not healthy, Harry,’ he says and it’s too sad for Harry to even state that Jimmy’s angry. And if he’s mad it’s because he cares for Harry.

‘I know,’ Harry agrees and takes the small wrapped present from Jimmy. ‘But this is all I will ever have.’

Jimmy pats him in shoulder and leaves without saying anything because there’s nothing more to say, to fix Harry’s mess, to make things okay again.

Harry opens the gift and it’s a pair of socks with animated banana printed all over it. And Harry smiles for real in the longest time. A tear runs down his eye though. Socks to warm his cold feet, but not his frozen heart.

If only it can. If only things can fix what’s broken within Harry, can bring back the past and make it the present and the future. But it can’t. So he has to live with these little things that Zayn gives him, that’s all _he_ can give.

**

Harry decides to go home early. He tells Jimmy.

‘Take care okay?’ Jimmy says and Harry only nods.

He passes Rick on the way out. Rick is their security, the one who always insists for them to wear IDs. He’s very strict with rules but he’s actually a big softy.

‘Harry,’ he calls out. And there’s that _something_ in his voice that Harry wants to runaway from but he doesn’t.

Harry stops. ‘Yeah?’

‘Someone sent you this.’ Rick bends down and picks up a basket full of banana and oranges.

It has a written: _Found this in the lift! :D_

**August 27, 2013**

‘Where’d you get the orange?’ Zayn asks Harry as they head to their seat to watch Beyoncé.

Harry swallows his orange before saying, ‘Saw it in the lift.’

Zayn looks at him with clear disbelief.

‘Along with this banana.’ He smiles and pulls out a banana from the inside pocket of his coat.

And Zayn just shakes his head in disbelief, a smile on his lips because Harry’s the most ridiculous human he has ever met.

‘I’m sharing if you fuck me later in the loo.’ Harry offers his banana.

Zayn looks scandalised because leave it to Harry to say things like that in public. But then that’s Harry being Harry.

‘I hope you make it loud,’ Zayn whispers dirtily into Harry’s ear as they sat down on their seat and Harry almost choke on his banana. Zayn just chuckles.

**February 1, 2015**

Before Harry leaves the parking lot in the studio he gets a call from Gemma. She tells him to buy her a book from this small bookstore because that’s the only place it is available and food because she’s going to come over later with _Ben and Jerry’_ s.

He’s looking over his phone as he pays in the till. He’s trying to reply to the people who sent him _Happy Birthday_ greetings. He gets his purchase and leaves.

He’s putting gas on his car is when he noticed that the girl, Magenta according to her nametag, had given him 2 books instead of 1. He finishes filling his car and pays. He gets in and checks the plastic just to be sure that his eyes aren’t messing with him.

He takes out the 2 books and accompanying Gemma’s requested _The Piano_ is another book with a sticky note attached to it that says: _twelve_.

**May 18, 2014**

‘Not _that_ book again,’ Harry says in disgust with a groan.

Zayn closes his book. ‘This is a good book, for your information Mr. Harry Styles,’ he says, offended but Zayn can never be angry with Harry.

‘I think the lead is masochistic,’ Harry says.

Zayn’s all on focus now. ‘Am I hearing this from Harry Styles? The hopeless romantic?’ He looks incredulous.

Harry throws a pillow at Zayn. ‘Shut it.’ He climbs on the bed and heads straight to Zayn. It’s almost natural for him to gravitate wherever Zayn is. If they’re with their friends they’ll get a lot of annoyed groans and _Get a room_ even when they don’t even PDA, just hold each others hands. But Amy once said that even if he and Zayn weren’t kissing or sexually touching their whole aura just screams like it, the way he and Zayn would stare at each other’s eyes or play that silly _Are you going to catch me looking at you like you sustain the air that I breathe?_ game that Amy had translated to _Eye Fucking_ game.

‘I feel bad for Jay to be honest,’ Harry mutters on Zayn’s chest. ‘What he keeps on doing for Daisy is ridiculous.’

Zayn doesn’t say anything, he knows if Harry wants to say more and he’s always patient to wait for Harry to arrange his thoughts even if more often than not, Harry just jumbles on sentences that doesn’t make sense. But Zayn knows Harry, knows the man inside out, so he fathoms Harry’s thoughts and put them into constellations.

‘It’s just he made so much effort just to get Daisy’s attention,’ Harry says, forming circles on Zayn’s bare chest. ‘He holds parties for her. He makes sure that she knows that she’s the shinning star in his life. It’s just too much.’ There’s a frown at the end of his lips.

Harry may have not fancy Jay too much and his techniques to woo Ms. Daisy but when he looks up at Zayn, he understands why Jay did it. He’ll host parties every night as well if it means he’ll have Zayn, if he’ll be able to wake up every morning – like the ones that has passed and he hopes to come – with Zayn’s smile starting his day. But it’s still ridiculous what people would do for a simple smile, a simple touch, a simple touch, a simple day. Maybe it’s because the simplest things are the ones gold could never buy.

Zayn kisses the frown away because he can. ‘That’s love,’ Zayn says like it’s the most logical explanation for _The Great Gatsby_.

**February 1, 2015**

Harry wonders why Charlie’s waiting for him outside their flat building. He knows the 8 year old is waiting for him because he perks up when he sees Harry’s car.

‘Hello, Mr. Styles,’ he greets him and his cheeks are a bit red from staying out too long in the cold. He has a dark green beanie on – he likes green cos he insisted that he’s a Slytherin after watching _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ (which baffles Harry) – and his stark black hair, that is growing longer by days, are trying to escape the confinement.

‘Hello,’ Harry greets back with a small smile because that’s all he can give people now, weak smile and fake enthusiasm. Not that it matters because he doesn’t care anymore – stopped caring for some time now.

‘I just want to greet you a happy birthday,’ he tells.

Harry smiles grow wider but still too tight for it to be real. ‘Thanks, love.’ He ruffles his hair. He giggles with a _Stop it, Mr. Styles._ ‘Let’s get you inside yeah?’

Charlie nods. And he holds up his hands up for Harry to hold.

There’s an ache in a corner of Harry’s heart as he holds Charlie’s hand. He always wanted a family. 3 kids actually. Can it even be still possible?

‘Is your Dad home?’ he asks the little kid. Charlie nods.

Charlie’s Dad is their strict neighbour Mr. Hudson – he’s 43 and is living on the third floor of the building with Charlie and his sweet Mum, Diana. They live just below Harry’s flat and once, Mr. Hudson complained about the noises coming from Harry’s room.

Ask Harry what the noises were and he’ll either blush or cry.

‘Next time just wait for me inside yeah?’ Harry says, and he knocks on the Hudson’s home. Charlie nods again.

Mr. Hudson opens the door and looks at Harry then at Charlie.

‘Hello, Dad,’ Charlie greets his father. ‘Thanks for walking me home, Mr. Styles.’ He beams Harry another smile.

Harry replies the best smile he could muster. ‘No problem.’

Mr. Hudson opens the door wider and let Charlie in. Then before Harry could leave he shoves a new white pillow in Harry’s arms and closes his door, before Harry can even ask what’s going on.

Unfortunately, Harry didn’t miss the look on Mr. Hudson’s eyes before slamming the door in Harry’s face. There’s that _something_ again.

Even bitter Mr. Hudson who would death glare Harry to no ends had softened up to him. And it isn’t that Harry tries to be a better neighbour now. It’s not that. They see the cracks in him that he tries to plaster on, but the thing is… BandAids don’t fix bullet holes.

Harry looks down into the soft thing in his hand and surely enough, the pillow is _thirteen_.

**October 21, 2013**

‘Maybe we should build a pillow fort,’ Harry suggests one night as he and Zayn starts to put on their pyjamas – which only mainly consists of boxers, and sometimes sweatpants if they feel like it.

Zayn stops from putting on his sweatpants. ‘What are you? 8?’

‘There’s no age limit, Mr. Grinch.’ Harry sticks his tongue out at Zayn and climbs into their bed with only a pair of boxers on. ‘I’ve always done that when I was a kid.’ He’s starfished across their bed. ‘And I want to do it with my kids someday.’

Zayn snorts because Harry’s being a sap again.

‘That’s why you should get me pregnant,’ Harry suggests with a wide grin, wiggling his eyebrows.

Zayn laughs at that. ‘Idiot.’

‘Your idiot.’

Zayn crawls to Harry. ‘My idiot.’ And he kisses him.

**February 1, 2015**

Harry sees it as he walks the hallway to his flat. It’s inside that posh plastic bag thing – transparent – for suits. It’s black. And Harry knows what his _fourteen_ th present is.

**January 14, 2014**

‘You know, you should have bought one for yourself if you’re always going to steal mine,’ Zayn says to Harry.

Harry just smiles because he believes that his charming smile and deep dimples will let him get away with anything. And maybe that is mostly true because Zayn smiles too. Harry considers it a win.

‘I don’t know Zayn,’ Harry replies, examines himself in the mirror and arranges the black leather jacket, Zayn’s favourite, to frame him nicely. It’s a little too big for Zayn’s small frame but it fits perfectly well with Harry’s contour. ‘I’m its Cinderella.’

‘How about I fuck you, with you only wearing that?’ Zayn whispers to his ear, hot breath ghosting over Harry’s skin, inviting and promising in a cold winter night.

Harry groans as his dick twitches in his pants with the image he had formed in his head. ‘Zayn,’ he scolds and whimpers at the same time. ‘We have to go clubbing tonight.’

Zayn looks at Harry’s crotch with a smug grin because he definitely sees how hard Harry is. And then their eyes meet in the mirror and he adds, ‘Or I can just fuck you.’ He licks at the exposed skin in Harry’s neck. ‘Punish you for always stealing my clothes. And my favourite leather jacket.’

**February 1, 2015**

He hears a drill and Harry’s suddenly scared that maybe he’s being _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_. He’s sure he left the door lock. And then he hears more sound, footsteps and a bark.

He meets the owner of the bark sound first. It belongs to this cute Husky pup with blue blue eyes and grey fur, reminds him of the Stark’s wolves. The little thing barks at him and wiggles its tail.

Harry bends down, one knee knelt on the floor to pat the Husky.

‘He’s name is Peeta,’ Gemma informs him as she enters the living room.

**August 05, 2014**

‘I can’t get pregnant Zayn,’ Harry whines one day. Zayn just rolls his eyes at him. ‘I’m being serious here.’ He throws a crumpled paper at the man on the other end of the couch.

‘Right,’ Zayn replies, questioning why he bothered to look from his book.

‘Maybe we should get a cat.’ Harry and all his ideas.

‘You can’t even make a goldfish survive for 3 days,’ Zayn reminds him, still not looking up from his book.

‘I didn’t know he must not be fed regularly,’ Harry defends. ‘He keeps eating what I gave him.’

‘It was a she, Harry,’ Zayn corrects.

‘And her name was Carlisle,’ Harry argues that Zayn doesn’t see what for. Harry sighs dramatically. ‘She will always be remembered.’

There’s a moment of silence. Zayn assumes it’s for the sake of Carlisle.

‘What about a husky?’ Harry suggests. ‘Then we’ll name him: Peeta.’ And Zayn rolls his eyes at his boyfriend again.

**February 1, 2015**

Peeta barks at Harry and pushes his little head more into Harry’s warm palm. ‘What?’

‘He’s name is Peeta,’ Gemma says again.

‘And?’

‘He’s yours,’ she supplies and sits on the couch.

‘What?’ The shock is evident in his voice.

‘You have a baby now.’ Peeta goes to Gemma and jumps into her lap. She pets his head and he settles more.

‘I can’t,’ Harry says. Peeta is cute and all but he can’t take on another living thing when he can’t take care of himself after what happened and what keeps on happening to him.

Gemma scratches Peeta’s neck like he’s a cat. ‘He’s the fifteenth, you know.’ She sounds so sad that Harry wants to yell at her for being sad. She doesn’t have the right.

‘Why are you even helping _him_?’ Harry snaps. Maybe he’s finally reached anger for his stages of grief.

Gemma sighs. And Harry can almost hear the sympathy and pity in her sigh. It shouldn’t be like that. She should be cheering on Harry and helping him move on or whatever it is that should be done to get his shit together. She should be helping him to get rid of the memories, the pain – everything that _he_ left behind.

‘I’m helping you,’ Gemma tells him. And there’s that _something_ in her eyes that Harry looks away from. ‘Maybe after this… after this, you’ll stop seeing him.’ She’s so sorry for his little brother. ‘There are other people out there Haz. They can love you too. It’s not just him.’

‘Did Doniya write down your script for you?’ he spats bitterly. He knows that he’s being unfair to his sister. He’s just too broken to do what is right. He’s been doing everything wrong for so long already that it has become a habit.

Gemma doesn’t look insulted because she understands. ‘Doniya has nothing to do with this.’

‘You and her have always conspired against us,’ he says. ‘You both said that it wasn’t right. That it won’t last long. That we’re both too young. That –’ He swallows down a sob.

She gets up from her seat and goes to him. Embraces Harry and he tries to remember what it feels like to have someone hold you when you’re weak, when you need to be hold, when you’re ready to break.

‘But you have to let go, Haz,’ she whispers and draws soothing circles on his back. ‘He already did.’

Did he? Because Harry still feels Zayn holding him. Maybe that’s what he wants to believe and thus, that’s what he feels.

**September 09, 2014**

Harry almost drops the unbroken egg in the pan when cold arms wraps around his torso. He feels Zayn yawns against his back and the man’s growing stubble scratches at his bare skin.

‘Morning,’ Harry says brightly. He cranes his neck and places a kiss at Zayn’s forehead.

Harry hears Zayn mutters a _Good morning_ as well but it got lost in another yawn. Soft lips touches a part of his shoulder and Zayn keeps his lips their. Harry chuckles at his sleeping beauty whom you have to offer 2 cups of coffee before he finally wakes up to face the new day.

‘What’re you cookin’?’ He yawns again.

‘Eggs,’ Harry answers, frying the egg expertly in the pan.

‘What’re you gonna put in ‘em?’

‘Black pepper but I’d love to put more spices in them but we don’t have that much.’

‘Le’s transfer t’India ‘en,’ Zayn suggest seriously.

And Harry just laughs because that seems like a good idea for someone like him who loves to cook spicy foods for Zayn who has an appetite for spicy dishes. It doesn’t matter if Harry can’t stand spicy foods, as long Zayn loves them then Harry will cook them.

**February 1, 2015**

‘You really need to stop this unhealthy relationship, Haz,’ Gemma says still holding her brother’s hand, hoping that it’s enough to hold him together for now, to glue him together for now.

‘How’s Mum?’

Gemma sighs the same sigh again. Harry pretends not to hear. ‘Worried about you.’

‘Tell her that I’m fine.’

‘Are you though?’

‘I will be.’

Something heavy clutters in the kitchen.

‘What was that?’ Harry asks warily and stares at Gemma. The sound of a drill is heard. ‘Are we being attacked?’

‘That’s just Austin.’

‘Who?’

‘My boyfriend,’ Gemma explains.

Harry’s eyes widen. He’s too caught up in his own isolated world that he forgets that the people around him are evolving too.

A bloke with caramel coloured hair appears from the kitchen entrance. ‘It’s done.’

He has blue eyes that remind Harry of the sky and a sweet smile that just shows how kind he must be. Harry can usually tell if people are good or not. And he’s sure that Austin belongs to the former class.

‘What does he mean?’

‘Come and see,’ Austin offers casually with a smile like this isn’t their first meeting, like they are long time friends and Harry likes Austin for his sister even more.

Harry looks at his sister for a decision. Gemma nods and they both follow Austin to the small kitchen. And there, at the empty corner of Harry’s kitchen next to the cupboard of groceries is a shelf of spices. The ones in little bottle, all aligned neatly and new.

Harry lets a tear fall from his eyes. _Sixteen_.

**

Gemma fixes a small snack for the three of them and they chat up in Harry’s living room. Harry investigates on Austin and what he does. He looks away whenever it gets too much – whenever he aches at the way his sister is looking at Austin and Austin is looking at Gemma like she hang the sun in the sky. He’s happy for her but the scars haven’t healed.

He thinks they never will since every day there seems to be a new one.

So when the couple bids Harry goodbye at 4 in the afternoon, Gemma hugging Harry tightly while saying, ‘Move on, Haz. Stop seeing him’ he goes to his room, to his empty bed that feels so big with corners expanding even more as the days gone by.

He notices the guitar case first, assumes that maybe Gemma had forgotten it. She doesn’t play but maybe Austin does, he hasn’t asked. Next to it is a new brown satchel bag. Then on them is: _seventeen_ , _eighteen_.

**February 24, 2014**

‘Who’s guitar is that?’

‘Jimmy’s.’ Harry continues to strum the instrument.

‘You keep on stealing stuff, Styles,’ Zayn teases.

‘There’s such a thing as borrowing, Mr. Grinch,’ Harry says, looking up to meet Zayn’s eyes and glares at him, fingers never leaving the strings to play more. Harry then goes back to his _borrowed_ guitar.

Zayn stares at him. Harry can feel the weigh of Zayn’s eyes on him, poking holes into him, making him feel naked and exposed.

‘Stop it.’ Harry looks up again.

‘What?’

‘You’ve got your smouldering look again,’ Harry points out.

‘I do not,’ Zayn defends.

‘Yes, you do.’ Harry narrows his eyes. ‘It’s attractive but it’s really distracting.’

Zayn laughs in disbelief. ‘Humour me.’

Harry shakes his head slowly like it’s him who can’t believe Zayn this time. ‘I don’t think you see yourself clearly at all.’

Zayn snorts, and it’s still so elegant Harry just stares in awe. ‘Now you’re stealing lines from Edward Cullen.’

‘You started the creepy staring first.’

Zayn blushes. ‘S’just that, you look sexy,’ he confesses and ducks his head, stares at the floor because Zayn is shy like that. He doesn’t say sappy things with a sincere voice because he’s a hopeless-romantic-in-denial.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to blush, breathe caught in his throat because it’s always a surprise when Zayn compliments him in times when Harry doesn’t feel like he’s the best and the most beautiful.

‘Will you play for me?’ Zayn asks, changing the topic because Harry’s pretty sure he’s got a weird look on his face. Maybe his usual Zayn-is-the-air-to-my-lungs-blood-to-my-veins-sort-of-importance look.

‘Anything for you.’ He strums his guitar, because since Zayn came into his life every love song is Harry’s message to Zayn, every note is Harry’s promise of love to the man with tattoos and a beautiful smile.

**March 12, 2013**

‘Fuck!’ Harry cusses as his paper bag tears up, its content spills to the floor.

Zayn turns to his boyfriend and sees the Harry trying to contain the fallen things from his paper bag. ‘Harry,’ he says alertly and goes back a few strides to help the other man.

‘I’m really sorry Zayn,’ he mutters – on the edge of breaking down into tears because they’re super late for Zayn’s meeting with a new author. His hands are trembling and failure sets in his face.

Zayn reaches out and holds both of Harry’s hands, kisses one knuckle after another. ‘S’okay, babe.’ He smiles.

Harry did cry because he doesn’t deserve someone as kind as Zayn who will never give him a telling off for being a klutz.

‘Let’s get you a better bag next time yeah?’

Harry only nods. He doesn’t deserve Zayn.

**February 1, 2015**

_Nineteen_ and _twenty_ awaits for him when Harry arrives. He smiles as he touches the petals of the flowers – white Carnation. It looks too lively against the hard marble table.

He gets the envelop and opens it.

_Dear H,_

_I hope you won’t read this. But I’m sure you will cos you’ll come, I know you will. Even if I told you many times not to. But then, I can’t blame you cos I’ll do the same too. It’s just that I can’t. I can’t. Not anymore. And I’m sorry._

_I know this is hard for you, receiving all those gifts and no me. I want you to know that I really, really, really want to be with you. I do. But I can’t._

_I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused, the promises I broke, the scars I’ve left. I can’t fix them. I can’t fix you like I can’t fix me. So this must end here. You will always be in my heart, like I will always be in yours. We’re soulmates, remember? But sometimes, soulmates don’t end up together._

_Do you remember that big fight we had last year? You said you needed a break and went to LA for a week or so to do some important recordings. And I was thinking that that was it. It’s over between us. You’re going to find some tan and buff American bloke to massage your back for you (I love massaging your back, just so you know). I even packed half of my things and just told you I was arranging when you arrived back and kissed me so hard that it knocked the breathe out of me – it did._

_What you didn’t know, is that I missed you so much that I cry myself to sleep at nights. I hug your pillow and they smell like you. I use your strawberry scented shampoo just so I’d inhale your scent. Anything to make it feel like I wasn’t alone, that you didn’t leave._

_But you are gone. And I should move on. I told myself that. I convinced myself to, then I see you at outside our door – eyes huge, lips full and pink, arms tanned – and I wasn’t able to remember to forget you. How can I? You were so beautiful and everything that I ever wanted. And you wanted me back. You wanted me – the moody and unsociable Zayn._

_What I learned that time is important, I will never get over you. I’ll just have to wait for the memories to fade, the pain to no longer ache, and my tears to dry. It won’t happen immediately because the heart remembers what the brain longs to forget. But we all get there. We will. Eventually._

_Thank you for choosing me in this life. And maybe you’ll still do at the next one, because I will surely choose you at the next one as well._

_Now, it’s time. This is it. This is goodbye._

_I love you. Always will._

_With love,_

_Zayn_

Harry’s tears are cascading down his cheeks when the waitress brings him his cup of tea. She asks him if he’s okay, he mutters a weak _Yes_. And she goes away the same _something_ in her eyes as she leaves.

It’s time. Harry knows.

He leaves.

**August 21, 2014**

‘I think you should serenade me,’ Harry tells Zayn one brunch session in Granary Building.

‘What for?’ Zayn asks, looking at Harry like he grew another head.

‘I don’t know.’ Harry shrugs. ‘To be romantic.’ He stares at some far of distance, maybe a land where prince and princesses exists. ‘I want flowers and a letter.’

Zayn eyes furrows. ‘I’m a simple book editor. Not Walt Disney.’

Harry pouts and takes a sip of his chamomile tea. ‘And you’re suppose to be romantic with all those romance novels you’re reading.’

‘I’m practical.’

‘More like a Romantic in Denial.’ He sticks his tongue out to Zayn.

‘What sort of flower do you fancy anyway?’ Zayn asks casually, taking a sip of his own tea.

Harry lights up, like a village losing power in the middle of the night and then regaining it back and have it in full blast for a second or two. ‘Roses.’

‘Cliché.’

Harry raises an eyebrow. ‘What about you, Mr. Malik? What would you like?’

‘White carnations.’ Zayn takes another sip at his tea.

**February 1, 2015**

He walks towards Zayn. He’s almost there.

He stops.

His breath catches in his throat. His legs feels like jelly.

He sees a small velvet box. _Twenty-one_.

**November 3, 2014**

‘What’s that?’ Harry doesn’t wait because he’s childish like that and just gets the small velvet box from Zayn’s hand. ‘Is this for me?’

‘No,’ Zayn says and reaches for the box.

Harry takes it out of his reach. He’s frowning. ‘Who will you give a ring to, if not me?’

‘Just give it back, Harry.’ Harry doesn’t like when Zayn uses his name and not Hazza or babe or Haz. It’s not right. Zayn shouldn’t use Harry’s name because everybody else does. Zayn should give him a special name like _meri jaan_ , or honey, or sweetie pie, or babycakes, or anything. Just not Harry. Ordinary Harry.

‘Tell me who you’ll give it to,’ Harry demands, verging anger.

‘It’s none of your business,’ Zayn retorts.

‘It is my business,’ Harry snaps.

Zayn runs a hand over his face, frustrated and annoyed. ‘To the love of my life yeah?’ He doesn’t drop Harry’s fierce stare and looks back into angry viridian eyes. ‘So leave it.’

It’s how Zayn says it, _The love of my life_ that sounds like _It’s not you_. Harry throws the box at Zayn and leaves.

**February 1, 2015**

Harry holds the velvet box in his hand. It fits in his palm perfectly. And the ring inside is a little too small on his huge hands but it’s right for his ring finger.

‘T’was for you,’ Zayn says. ‘I just suck at surprises.’ He smiles.

‘S’okay,’ Harry replies.

‘Perfect fit, innit?’

‘Yeah.’ Harry feels the weight of it, feels the words lasered inside it getting tattooed in his finger. That even with his eyes close, even without looking, even when he longs to forget, 3 little words will always be, always be forgotten to forget: _Harry, meri jaan_.

So Harry takes out his phone and calls Zayn, tears dropping at the cold marble he lies down with. The phone rings, Harry’s eyes gets blurry with tears but even then he can read the epitaph clearly, _I lived and I was loved deeply._

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the Part 1 of IT'S ON REPEAT in case you need explanation for the ending.  
> Please leave comments or kudos.  
> Massive thanks for reading! xoxo


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